


Purely Scientific Reasons, Of Course

by Zinnith



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Crack, Don't Ask Don't Tell, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Humor, M/M, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-16
Updated: 2010-05-16
Packaged: 2017-10-09 11:39:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/86892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zinnith/pseuds/Zinnith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rodney is a sex toy inventor. John is a test pilot. John becomes <i>Rodney's</i>  test pilot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Purely Scientific Reasons, Of Course

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lavvyan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavvyan/gifts).



> For lavvyan, who prompted me with _John/Rodney, vibrators! Note the plural! *g*_ Not nearly as much porn as you'd expect from a story almost entirely about adult toys. the_cephalopod is my beta hero!

It wasn't that John was _lonely_ per se. He had long ago reconciled himself with the fact that he could either have sex with guys or he could fly unbelievably cool things that went really fast. He wasn't entirely sure what it said about him that he preferred the flying, but it was the truth. Besides, anonymous quickies in the men's room had lost their appeal some ten years ago and John had quite a vivid imagination, so he didn't mind much that his sex life consisted of his right (and sometimes, for variation, his left) hand.

He was satisfied with things as they were. He always managed to mess up his relationships anyway, a fact to which the whole Nancy catastrophe was testament, and well, he got to _fly_.

However, it would be easier if other people wouldn't try to throw _their_ happy relationships in his face all the time. Lorne had been married five years now and, while he had always been a good-natured guy, he had been almost _mellow_ lately, walking around with a dazed little smile on his lips.

John wasn't about to ask. It was none of his business.

That didn't mean that _Lorne_ was going to shut up about it. One Friday afternoon in the locker room, John unfortunately asked if Lorne and the missus had anything planned for the weekend. Just small talk really, some mindless babble to fill the air. Lorne, however, blushed bright red and said, “I think we'll stay in actually.” Then he lowered his voice and leaned closer to John. “Louise thought we were getting, you know, _stale_, so she went to this place downtown that one of her friends told her about.”

“I don't want to know,” John protested. “Seriously, Evan, TMI.”

”No, no, it's nothing like _that_,” Lorne hurried to say. “It's a shop. You wouldn't believe some of the things she's been bringing home.”

John cleared his throat, thankful that he was already dressed and ready to go. “Well,” he said. ”Have fun then. I've got to run, see you Monday.”

Then he fled.

* * *

When he came home, John cursed himself for being silly and easily embarrassed. It wasn't a big deal, was it? Practically _everyone_ owned sex toys these days, at least if you chose to believe the magazines.

Come to think of it, it wasn't illegal either. The Air Force might have things to say about who John was allowed to fuck and get fucked by, but it was none of their business what he put in his ass when he was alone, in the privacy of his own home. It had been a very long time since he'd had anything up there but his own fingers. Maybe _he_ was getting stale? He was almost forty. Time to start living a little dangerously.

John pondered it for a moment, then he went to get the yellow pages.

* * *

The next day, John planned his little excursion carefully. He got dressed in sweats and a hoodie and put on a baseball cap and sunglasses to hide his identity. Things might turn very awkward very fast if he happened to run into someone he knew, Louise Lorne for instance.

It was easy to find the place; _Pleasurable Things – Adult Store_. From the outside it looked ordinary enough. There was one small display window, haphazardly strewn with lacy lingerie and massage oils. Peeking in though the window, John couldn't see any other customers. He steeled himself and went inside.

Behind the counter, a broad-shouldered, heavyset guy with thinning hair was fiddling with something that had many tiny parts. When the bell on the door jingled to announce John's arrival, he glanced up, looked John up and down, said, “Gay porn is in the back room,” and went back to whatever he was doing.

John thought for a quick terrifying moment that this was it, he had managed to ruin his entire career, and also, was it _that_ obvious? Then he remembered that he was here incognito and shuffled into the back room. True enough, there were a few shelves of porn, but John's eyes were immediately drawn to the opposite wall. There were cocks everywhere, in every colour of the rainbow. Pink cocks, black cocks, purple cocks. Small cocks and big cocks and veiny cocks. Cocks in the shape of a dolphin (seriously, who _thought_ of these things?) There were cocks with suction cups and cocks with harnesses. There were even cocks that vibrated. Those looked kinda interesting.

“Give a holler if you need help!” came a voice from the other room. John blushed furiously at the thought of the sales guy coming in and start giving advice. He grabbed the closest toy and hurried back out to the counter.

“Just this one, thanks,” he muttered, pulling the baseball cap a little further down over his face as he reached for his wallet.

The sales guy looked up. His eyes, John noted, were very blue. “Ah, the vibrator 2000 series. Good choice, they're a bestseller. Great for prostate stimulation.” The guy rang up the purchase and put the package into a discreet plastic bag, handing it to John. “Enjoy.”

“Mhhm,” John managed and fled again.

* * *

It wasn't until later that evening, after he'd had a few beers and was feeling pleasantly buzzed, that John lay down on his bed and took the thing... the, the _vibrator_, out of its package. He turned it over in his hands, studying it more closely than he'd been comfortable with in the shop. It looked like, well, a plastic dick, to be honest. Not huge, maybe a little bigger than average, but amazingly life-like. The package had a little sticker with the words _design by Rodney McKay, patent pending_.

John managed to work out where the batteries went. Then he turned the little dial at the thick end and felt soft vibrations in his hand. It tickled a bit, but wasn't unpleasant. He wasn't quite sure how it would feel inside and the thought made him a little giddy and very nervous.

Well. It wasn't like he had anything better to do at the moment. He shoved his boxers down and reached for the lube.

Forty-five minutes later, John slid out of the bed and staggered into the shower on wobbly legs. Rodney McKay, whoever he was, was a _genius_.

* * *

He spent most of Sunday in bed, experimenting with different angles and speeds and by the time Monday rolled along, John was sure he shared Lornes dazed happy look. He had upgraded his opinion about the McKay guy from 'genius' to 'needs to be canonised, _now_'.

A few weeks went by during which John liked his life pretty well. Then came the day when he overheard Cadman and Tildy giggle about something in the breakroom. He could only make out odd bits of conversation at first, such as “custom-made”, “little bit creepy but he knows what he's doing” and “_incredible_”. It didn't take a triple digit IQ to figure out what they were talking about, especially as he knew for a fact that they were both single at the moment. Lorne kept careful track of that sort of thing in his futile attempts to set John up.

John swallowed, thought back to his decision to take the occasional walk on the wild side and went to ask them for details, muttering something about girlfriends and anniversaries and surprises.

Both of them stared at him for a moment with identical looks that said, “Yeah, _right_,” and damn it, was it stamped to his _forehead_ or something? But then Cadman gave him the address and sure enough, it was the same shop.

He went on a Thursday evening this time, because he didn't want to start some kind of pervy routine (Saturday morning: go downtown, buy fake cock). He kept the subtle disguise, though he put on a different baseball cap.

The same stout, blue-eyed guy was sitting behind the counter when John entered. This time, he was reading a math journal which was a bit surprising - John had expected porn or something. Then again, given the environment, this guy was probably exposed to enough porn every day to permanently put him off the stuff. It seemed to have been a slow day, because the moment John came inside, the sales guy put the journal down and stood up with a brilliant smile and a “2000 series, right? How is that working out for you?”

All right, that was not a normal way to start a conversation. John quickly reached the conclusion that this man was either completely socially inept, extremely devoted to his work, or possibly both. But hell, John was here for a reason. He glanced around the shop, making sure they were alone, and then walked up to the counter. ”It's fine. Very... um, satisfying?” Shit, he was so bad at this. Better get it over with so he could run away and hide under his bed for the next millennia. ”So... someone told me that you could get things...ehrm...specially made?”

”A custom job?” The guy perked up and reached into a drawer for a keychain. ”Sure, no problem. Why don't you come into the workshop?”

He led the way through the backroom and into an even smaller room behind it. There were several work benches, all strewn with sex toys in various stages of completion. John tried very hard to keep his eyes from popping out of his head. Was that a.... And that other one, how could that even be anatomically _possible_?

”You _make_ these things?” he asked, completely baffled.

The sales guy let out a little snort. ”Of course I do. All merchandise is of my own design. I mean, I have a place to help me with the large batches, but the special orders and custom jobs, I make myself.”

There was a _click_ and a little _ding ___in John's head as his brain made the connection. ”You're Rodney McKay?”

“None other,” a smug expression spread over the man's face. John was struck with the urge to give him a desperate hug and sob 'Thank you, thank you, thank you,' but held back. McKay turned around to one of the workbenches. ”Now, was there anything in particular you had in mind? Let's see, I might have something here....”

He began sorting through a collection of more or less frightening devices while muttering to himself. John stared in terror as he turned around again, waving something huge and black and jiggly around. ”Um,” he began. ”I was thinking more of...”

“Right!” McKay tossed the black _thing_ aside. ”I forgot, you're new at this, right? Let me guess, you work at the base?”

“Test pilot,” John let slip, and then wondered how strange it would seem if he was to go and bang his head hard against the wall. “Look,” he pleaded. “I don't want anyone to...”

”Oh, I'm very discreet,” McKay said with a strange little grin. “Besides, half my clientele comes from the Air Force base. You have nothing to worry about.”

_Well, I bet half the Air Force base aren't trying to keep their sexual preferences a secret_, John wanted to say, but wisely shut up.

McKay started rooting around for a while, gathering up tiny tools and moulds and then said, “I think I have an idea here. Why don't you come back tomorrow and I'll have something ready for you.”

”Uh-huh,” John said and didn't flee this time. Instead he walked out of the store in a very calm and dignified manner. He did run two red lights on the way home though.

* * *

Back in McKay's workshop the next evening, John was beginning to feel strangely at home. He wondered if he was becoming a regular, and whether or not he ought to be ashamed of the fact. Then he forgot all that when McKay presented him with a curiously shaped, flesh coloured thing.

“All right,” he said excitedly. “This is a bit of an experiment, but I think you'll like it. It's a vibrator, because you seemed happy with that. The material is 100% silicone, so you should use water based lube with it. Oh, and these bits here...”

The rest of the monologue was about body parts John didn't even knew had _names_. He stared dumbfounded at the vibrator and wondered how much all this was going to cost him. McKay seemed to have put quite a lot of work into the thing.

McKay, however, seemed to read his mind. “I'm not going to charge you anything for this,” he said. “It's a completely new design. But I was thinking, since you're a test pilot and all, if you'd mind filling in a questionnaire? You know, quality control and all that. Purely scientific reasons, of course!” He put the vibrator down and started fiddling in a drawer, pulling out a few sheets of paper. Then, he put it all in another discreet plastic bag and thrust it into John's hands. “Enjoy! And let me know how you like it!”

* * *

It was _amazing_. John came two times in a row, which had never happened before. Then he sat down to fill out the questionnaire. It seemed like the right thing to do, considering McKay had given him this wonderful, incredible thing for free.

The questions were very professional and unintrusive, so John answered them as truthfully as possible and then, after some thought, added '_Pretty cool_' in the space reserved for additional comments at the bottom of the sheet.

“Pretty cool'?” McKay asked with a raised eyebrow when John dropped by to leave the questionnaire the next week and McKay skimmed through it. “All right, surely there must be _something_ wrong here. I'll have to do better next time.”

”You're welcome to try,” John said with a smirk. He'd left the sunglasses at home today. He also didn't mention the fact that if McKay had done any better, John would probably have been dead from a heart attack, because _damn_.

When McKay looked up, his eyes were bright with competitiveness. “Oh, you're _on_, mister,” he said and disappeared into the workshop for fifteen minutes before he came out for with another discreet little plastic bag.

John winked at him and left, wondering quietly if he was actually _flirting_ with the supplier of his sex toys. McKay was not _handsome_ by any means, but he was kinda hot in a homely way and had beautiful eyes and very nice shoulders. John had never been a big fan of insanely beautiful guys anyway. He wondered if McKay was gay. Then he stopped thinking about it and thought about flying planes instead. It didn't help as much as usual.

* * *

During the next few weeks, McKay introduced John to plugs, beads and an ingenious little device called an 'Aneros'.

“Well, that's the name of the original patent,” McKay said, in the middle of an explanation of what the Pubococcygeus muscle was, and why it was such a great thing to have. “I've made a few modifications. I don't know what to call this one, actually.”

John made a few suggestions on the questionnaire sheet, which caused McKay to glare at him and say, ”Okay, you're officially not allowed to name anything, _ever_.”

He wasn't sure how it happened, but soon John found himself dropping by the store after work now and then just to chat. He _liked_ McKay, not only because he built John a new vibrator every other week. The guy was also extremely smart and had a wry sense of humour, even if he was prone to whining now and then and took personal affront to any suggestion that his work was anything less than perfect. John came to the conclusion that they had become friends, and he was weirdly okay with that. People had to make a living, right? If McKay made his selling sex toys, that was none of John's business. After all, he made _his_ living risking his life in experimental planes, so out of the two of them, McKay was probably the saner one.

* * *

About four months after John had paid his first visit to the shop, he dropped by one evening to find the store empty. The door was unlocked, but McKay was nowhere to be found, not in the store and not in the workshop.

John knew McKay lived in a small apartment above the shop, and he was beginning to get a little worried. McKay was _always_ there, and when he wasn't, he usually left a note on the door telling when he'd be back. He had also told John in great detail about his allergies and that wonky blood sugar thing, he lived alone with his cat, and John decided that the friendly thing to do would be to check up on the guy and make sure he was okay.

The door from the workshop that led to McKay's apartment was also unlocked, so John went upstairs and knocked on the door. First there was only silence, and John was just beginning to think that McKay must've gone out and forgot to lock the door or something when he heard slow shuffling steps from inside. The door opened and a flushed, tired-looking McKay peered out. He blinked a few times, confusedly. ”John?” he whispered, his voice so raw that it made John wince. It seemed like McKay had caught that cold that had been going around lately. He looked sick as hell.

”Hi buddy, the door was open.”

McKay blinked again. “The door? But I... oh, I must've forgotten to lock it. I wasn't feeling so well earlier.” He reached into the pocket of his ratty blue bathrobe, pulled out a wad of kleenex and proceeded to have a coughing fit.

“No shit,” John said. “You okay? You don't look so hot.”

”Oh,” McKay sniffled and waved his hand. “I expect death to deliver me any second now. I'm just going to lie down and wait.”

There were dark hollows underneath his eyes and John didn't have to check his temperature to know that he had a fever. “Geez, Rodney, how long have you been like this? You need anything?”

McKay blinked blearily and swayed a little and John quickly grabbed his elbow to steady him. “Um, since yesterday? I'm okay, just a little dizzy. Throat hurts.”

So, he'd probably not been able to eat anything. John stepped inside, still with a firm grip on McKay's arm. “Okay, let's get you horizontal. Couch or bed?”

”Hm? What? Oh, couch I think. I was watching a movie while I was waiting for the grim reaper.”

John didn't quite know what to expect from the home of a sex toy inventor, but the reality proved to be disappointingly plain. McKay had a small two-room apartment, a huge entertainment center and several cacti silently dehydrating on the window sills. A big white cat was lying on top of a book shelf, glaring at John with bright green eyes as he steered Rodney over to the couch and helped him settle down under a blanket. A movie was paused on the TV screen, something with space ships and explosions from the look of it.

“You gonna be okay on your own?” John asked as Rodney wearily put his head down on a cushion. “Want me to fix you some tea or soup or something?” He wasn't sure what it meant, the fact that he wanted to mop Rodney's fevered brow and make him soup, but the man was _sick_. He deserved a little coddling.

“Don't have any soup,” McKay rasped. “Thank god I stocked up on cat food this week or Mr Fluffy would've killed me by now.”

“Mr Fluffy?” John glanced at the enormous cat on top of the book shelf. It looked like it devoured small children for breakfast.

“My niece named him, okay? He was tiny as a kitten and she was four at the time.” Rodney said testily and switched on the TV again. “Sorry. I'm not very good company right now.”

“It's okay,” John said and resisted the urge to tuck the blanket around McKay's slippered feet to make sure he was warm enough. “I, um, I'm gonna fix you something hot to drink.”

He wandered into the small kitchen and scoured the cupboards until he found a few teabags. While he waited for the water to boil, Mr Fluffy joined him, staring at him in such a hair-raising fashion that John didn't dare not feed him in case the cat decided to eat _him_ instead. Then he made the tea with lots of sugar, found some apple juice and poured a glass, and went out into the living room where Rodney was watching the movie with glassy eyes and the occasional cough. There was a small mountain of kleenex on the coffee table. “Here you go,” John said, putting the tea and the juice down in front of him.

McKay looked up at him and blinked again. “Thanks,” he whispered. ”You didn't have to.”

“Sure I did,” John said. ”Drink up, you need the fluids.” Then he caught sight of McKay's cell phone on the table and grabbed it, despite Rodney's weak protests. He programmed in his own numbers, both home and to his cell, and put it down again in front of Rodney. “I've got to go,” he said. “Call me if you get any worse, okay?”

“Mhm,” Rodney mumbled, half asleep and fading fast. ”Lock 'p th' store?”

“I will,” John promised. He went down the stairs again, rummaged around behind the counter until he found the keys to the front door, locked it behind him and put the keys in the mail slot.

Then he went to meet Lorne at the gym. He couldn't quite concentrate on his work-out though, and even when he arrived home, he couldn't stop thinking about Rodney, sick and alone with only a potentially psychotic cat for company. John wondered if he ought to go over again, just to check up on him, but...well... maybe it would seem a little clingy? They had only known each other for what, a few months? Rodney probably had other friends who could take care of him.

But he still went to the phone and called his favourite take out place. He ordered chicken noodle soup to be delivered to Rodney's address.

* * *

McKay was back in the store two days later, with red-rimmed eyes and a runny nose, but looking much better than before. John stopped by to leave the latest questionnaire and noted that his stomach felt suspiciously light and tingly at the sight of Rodney's hunched-over form lurching around behind the counter.

Thinking back to that day, the thing with the phone had probably been a little over the top. The soup had _definitely_ been. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, but had probably sent all the wrong signals. John took a deep breath and went inside. “Hey,” he said. “Feeling better?”

Rodney looked up. “What? Oh, yes, thank you. I'm... well, I'm not actually feeling like I'm going to _die_ any more, so...” He trailed off, coughed a little, and added in a very small voice. ”Thanks. For the tea and the soup and everything.”

”Well.” John ducked his head and scratched his neck. ”That's what friends do, right?”

“Is it?” Rodney looked about as confused as John felt. “I... I guess I don't know that much about friendship. I don't know if it has anything to do with the fact that I own an adult store, but most people tend to assume I'm a pervert.”

So, _that's_ why Rodney lived alone with the monster in the cat disguise. It didn't seem very fair to John. He had chosen his solitary life, had picked planes over relationships, and it didn't stop him from having friends. Rodney just had a job he clearly loved and was extremely good at. That shouldn't make people shun him.

“Owning a sex shop doesn't make you a pervert, McKay,” he heard himself say. “Preferring Tricia Helfer over Katee Sackhoff, _that_ makes you a pervert.”

The corner of Rodney's mouth quirked up in that wry little smile of his. ”Says the man who drools over Jamie Bamber,” he shot back. ”Everyone knows that James Callis is way hotter.”

When he came home, John _did_ bang his head against the wall, repeatedly. Damn, damn, _damn_. He was _not_ falling in love with Rodney McKay.

* * *

Something had changed. On the surface, everything was the same. They still made fun of each other. John kept visiting the store. He left off the disguise these days, especially after Rodney's confession. He had nothing to be ashamed of. McKay was a great guy, if people couldn't see that, well, then it was their loss.

Rodney also kept constructing the most unbelievable things, things with bumps and knobs in all the right places. One of them made John _pass out_, he came so hard. And if, sometimes, he had Rodney's name on his lips when he came, then that was nobody's business but John's.

McKay probably wasn't gay anyway. And there was the flying. Flying was important. Very important. And if it took John a little longer every morning to convince himself of it, well, that was also his own business.

* * *

On Friday evening, John was bored and decided to go see Rodney. He had been careful lately, trying not to go too often, because that might seem weird. Then again, he didn't want to wait too long between the visits either, or Rodney might think that John didn't want to see him any more. It was all very confusing, especially considering that Rodney had changed his questionnaires recently. They were still completely professional, clearly for research purposes, but a little more detailed than before. John had a hard time filling them in, wanting to do his best to help Rodney out but, at the same time, not wanting to give away _too_ much. Rodney did not need to know that John spent pretty much every testing session fantasising about what it would be like to have Rodney's strong arms holding him down.

They had coffee in the workshop while Rodney read through the questionnaire and John played with a red jelly dildo that bounced in a hilarious way when he moved it. They knew each other well enough by now that their silences were never uncomfortable, but tonight there seemed to be something in the air. Rodney was acting off, like he was nervous about something. He had also shaved and put on a fresh shirt. It looked almost as if he'd dressed up for John's visit.

So. Maybe he _was_ gay? And maybe John wasn't the only one with unprofessional thoughts.

Rodney put the sheet of paper down on his workbench and tapped it a few times with his pencil. “Would you,” he started, a hint of a blush spreading over his face. “Would you mind clarifying number seven? It's... um...” he shut up and looked away, going redder and redder.

Oookay. If this was McKay flirting, it wasn't a mystery he never got any. “Rodney, if you want to participate in person, just say so,” John said, before he had any chance to stop himself. Then he spent the next few seconds mentally beating up himself and his big mouth. That was _not_ what he had meant to say.

But Rodney looked up, eyes very bright. “And if I do?” he said, his voice so high and trembling that John just had to drop the jelly dong, get to his feet and go over and kiss the guy.

If Rodney was surprised, he didn't show it. It was good, the best kiss as far as John could remember, and it would be so easy to just get lost in it, forget everything about the Air Force and flying planes and...

”Look, Rodney,” he muttered, breaking free from the kiss. ”I really want to, I _do_, but I can't. If my CO finds out...”

“Your CO?” Rodney echoed. Damn, his lips were all wet and swollen and no man should have eyelashes that long and dark. “You mean that Ellis guy who comes in every Tuesday night wearing a very obvious fake beard, buys hardcore military porn and pays with his credit card? I have enough dirt on him to blackmail him for the rest of his _life_.”

John stared at him. “You,” he said, “are a genius. An _evil_ genius.”

“Yes,” Rodney answered smugly. “As a matter of fact, I am. Come here.”

Then they were kissing again, and John could get used to this, he really could. He was getting hard - it had been far too long with nothing but his own hand and Rodney's amazing silicone inventions, and there was something to be said about real, living, breathing people. John could feel Rodney's answering erection against his thigh and let a hand slide down to cup it. “I want to try _this_,” he mumbled into Rodney's mouth.

This time it was Rodney's turn to pull away, beet-red in the face. ”Eh, well, actually...”

”What?”

“When I was developing the 2000 series...” Rodney cleared his throat. ”I was, well, I was a bit low on funds at the time and I needed a mould that looked as real as possible and...”

“Rodney, are you saying what I _think_ you're saying?” John interrupted.

“It's not like it's _hideous_ or anything! And they _do_ sell better than anything else!”

John pondered this for a moment. Well, given the way they had met, was it so strange that he had fallen in love with Rodney's cock before falling in love with the man himself? He shrugged and pulled Rodney closer. “Okay, so now I want the real deal.”

”Are you sure?” Rodney piped up, grinning like a loon. “It doesn't vibrate.”

“Shut up and kiss me again.”

* * *

Rodney was still asleep when John woke up. It was much later than John usually slept, but considering the night's activities (and they bore considering, in detail, possibly with spreadsheets and illustrations) it wasn't so strange that he felt wiped out, and also relaxed, pleasantly sore and happier than he'd been in years. He pressed a light kiss against Rodney's temple, careful not to wake him. Rodney had gone above and beyond the call of duty last night and deserved his sleep.

John got out of bed and searched through the drawers until he found one of Rodney's questionnaires. He filled it in, added the notes A++ and BRB at the end and left it on Rodney's bedside table. Then he went out to get bagels for breakfast.  



End file.
